


Coughing Fit

by nautilicious



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Coughing, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sherlock Experiments on John, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 13:25:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nautilicious/pseuds/nautilicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has a cold. Sherlock sees it as an opportunity for some sexual experimentation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coughing Fit

John sneezes while hanging up his coat. He nearly drops it in his hurry to fish a tissue out of his pocket and wipe his nose.

Sherlock fixes his eyes upon John and says, “You’ve got the cold.”

“Oh, well-spotted,” John says, waving the tissue at him. “What gave it away?” He tosses the tissue in the bin and moves into the kitchen to start up the kettle. “Christ, I’d hoped to avoid this one. Half of London’s been through the clinic with it and they all looked miserable.” When he turns back towards the sitting room, Sherlock continues to stare.

“You’re sick,” Sherlock says. “You promised.”

“Promised —?” John tries to think through the fog in his head, perplexed, until a vague recollection of a conversation about involuntary contractions surfaces. “Oh, no,” he says. “I wasn’t really serious about that. It was a joke.”

“I’m desperately curious,” says Sherlock.

“No.”

“I’ll make you tea until you’re well.”

John considers. He knows that he’ll feel terrible sometime in the next twelve hours. It would be nice to have someone bringing him tea while he stays tucked up in bed. And an orgasm might give him a bit of an immune system boost.

“This is probably going to be messy,” he says by way of agreement. Sherlock grins.

* * * 

“All right, John, I think lying on your back will produce maximum drainage.”

“Kissing is right out,” John says.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Yes, thank you, Doctor Watson.”

John slips out of his clothes quickly as Sherlock does the same. He usually likes the unveiling, the thrill of Sherlock’s dark gaze on him or the tantalizing reveal of Sherlock’s smooth skin. Today, however, he wants to snuggle comfortably under the duvet. The sheets feel cool against his skin, his pillow perfectly fluffed under his head, and for a moment John considers calling the whole thing off in favor of a nap. Sherlock must see him reconsidering because the next thing John knows, Sherlock pulls back the covers and takes John’s cock into his mouth. He’s still soft and Sherlock’s lips enclose him completely.

John makes a sharp, surprised noise and tenses for a few seconds before relaxing into the sensation of Sherlock’s brilliant, clever mouth on him. John feels Sherlock’s tongue slowly working against the quickly stiffening head of his cock while his hand slides around to grip the base, stroking firmly.

“Hmm?” Sherlock asks, and the vibration makes John squirm. A slow, steady pulse of desire beats in his pelvis, increasing in tempo as Sherlock’s fingers shift to curl delicately around John’s balls. They brush the sensitive skin there and then slide slowly across John’s perineum. John feels the barest pressure against his hole and can’t help bucking his hips for more.

Then he sneezes. Sherlock pulls his mouth from John’s cock and frowns. “Try not to sneeze until I penetrate you,” he says crossly.

“Sherlock, it’s not like I can help it.” He makes a sort of half-coughing noise. The mucus is definitely starting to irritate the back of his throat.

Sherlock reaches over John to open the nightstand drawer. The sight of his long fingers holding the bottle of lube makes John’s cock twitch. Sherlock’s mouth quirks up in the ghost of a smile and he sets the bottle down. Before John can wonder why, Sherlock’s head is between his thighs again, and his tongue is —

“Christ!”

There is nothing dainty about this. Sherlock has been known to tease, to take his time, to prepare John with infinite and torturous gentleness. This is not that. Sherlock’s hands grip John’s arse, tilting it up to his mouth. His tongue spears into John, the warmth and wetness of it relentless against John’s skin. John is spread open under Sherlock’s mouth and the sheer filthiness of it ratchets John’s desire from a slow burn to a desperate pitch.

Sherlock eats at him until John writhes under his mouth, his every breath a whimper. Then John feels Sherlock’s fingers sliding into him. Sherlock pulls his mouth away, his green-grey gaze locked with John’s as he stretches John open. John’s breath stutters at the look in Sherlock’s eyes. This may have started as an experiment, but Sherlock’s desire shows on his face. Sherlock’s fingers thrust deeper, twisting across John’s prostate. John whines, the noise forced from his throat, and he feels himself clamp down on Sherlock’s fingers.

“Now, Sherlock, now.”

Sherlock kneels up and strokes lube over his cock. John watches Sherlock’s hand hungrily.

“You’re flushed,” Sherlock says. “Feverish.”

John feels feverish, every cell in his body yearning for that first push of Sherlock inside him. Sherlock moves forward and presses himself against the entrance to John’s body. He tilts his head. “I don’t supposed you’d let me take your temperature?”

“Not a chance.” John squirms forward and groans as he draws in the head of Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock’s attempt at a pout quickly dissolves into a sigh of pleasure.

“You are quite warm, John.”

John does not reply, every nerve in his lower body tingling with the stretch and burn of Sherlock’s cock inside him. Sherlock slides forward slowly, working his way in with little thrusts that make John clench the sheets and want to beg.

It takes only a few moments for Sherlock’s pelvis to be cradled within John’s, his pubic hair crinkling against John’s balls. Then Sherlock says, “Now cough.”

John, well on the way to losing all coherence, blinks. “What?”

“The whole point of this was so that I could experience involuntary muscle contractions from the inside. So cough.”

John rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t the _whole_ point,” he says. And then, “I don’t have a cough.”

Sherlock grimaces. “Well, fake it then.”

John stares at him. He takes a moment to boggle that Sherlock’s brain manages to stay completely online even though John has Sherlock’s cock fully seated within his body, and then he decides just to go with it. He forces himself to cough.

Sherlock gasps, his whole body arched and immobile for the seconds that John’s arse clenches around him. So John forces another cough. Sherlock moans and twitches his hips forward, thrusting against John’s prostrate. John, mid-fake-cough, tries to moan and then coughs for real as air irritates the tissues of his throat already irritated by post-nasal drip.

Sherlock begins to thrust in earnest and the drag of his cock over John’s prostate is almost too intense. John cries out, which kicks off another coughing fit and Sherlock makes a strangled sort of noise, his thrusts increasing in speed and pressure. John’s moans become continuous. Sherlock wraps his hand around John’s cock, stroking it with an efficiency in direct contrast to the soft, desperate noises coming from Sherlock’s throat.

John’s orgasm is close, his body tightening and tingling. He takes a deep breath and deliberately coughs until his throat feels raw. Sherlock’s eyes roll back into his head and his body jerks above John’s. Sherlock’s hand falters, his mouth stretched wide in a soundless scream of pleasure. John grabs at Sherlock’s hand on his cock, strokes himself firmly with their joined hands, and comes with a shout.

Sherlock pitches forward, squashing John into the bed, and relaxes. A bit of a wriggle from John slides Sherlock’s cock out of John’s body and John strokes his hand down Sherlock’s back.

“That’s not quite how I expected that to go,” John says. His voice rasps.

“Need more data,” Sherlock says. John feels Sherlock smiling against his neck.

“I earned my tea,” John says. “And you’ll arrange for the take-away besides,” he adds. “Once these endorphins wear off I imagine I’ll feel quite crap.”

“Don’t worry, John,” Sherlock says. “I’ll take care of you.”

John grunts, knowing that Sherlock will probably forget about their arrangement after the first cup of tea. He can’t seem to bring himself to mind.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a cold today. This helped.


End file.
